


Same Wavelength

by corns



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angel Killua Zoldyck, Angel Wings, Death, Demon Gon Freecs, Demons, Dimension Travel, Feel-good, Fluff, Good Demons, Hinduism, Innocent Killua, Inspired by Hinduism not a literal translation, M/M, Minor Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Time Travel, Wings, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 04:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19716055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corns/pseuds/corns
Summary: While learning the family business, Killua meets the demon, Gon, who plants the seeds of the recently deceased.





	Same Wavelength

**W** hen Killua was born, it started with a headache, as his father would say. Killua figured it was bullshit, and that was what his father said approximately twenty-four hours before said headache grew to an immeasurable degree. At last, the consolidated _being_ that had been using Silva Zoldyck’s mind as fertilizer sprung forth and _viola_ , thus became Killua Zoldyck.

The Zoldycks were in the odd business of _vengeance_ , more or less, so they couldn’t be all that surprised by Killua’s supernatural birth. Hell, his brother Illumi had been born the normal human way, which was by far the most bizarre thing about him. 

The odd thing about Killua, though, wasn’t his Athenian birth but rather the wings on his back. 

His father took one look at Killua’s wings and turned to his mother to say, “It seems he’s taken all of my holiness.”

“You didn’t have any holiness to begin with,” his mother said.

They weren’t quite sure what to make of Killua’s wings. Angels were… something else entirely and would, likely, be far more difficult to care for than demons or otherwise. The Zoldycks weren’t quite _death itself_ , nor were they Heaven incarnate. They operated on a different wavelength.

Wavelengths, as they called them, were how they calculated time, speed. Supernatural elements didn’t exist on the same wavelength as humans and therefore, couldn’t be viewed by humans unless they so deemed fit. Angels were on the highest wavelength—time traveled faster there, and if it weren’t for the Zoldyck’s angelic ancestry, they might not have been able to operate in the business they did. 

The higher wavelengths could work both ways—forwards and backwards. Fifth, sixth dimensional shit. Time travel, as mortals would call it. There was a limit to the Zoldyck transit system, though, that restricted them to one universe, one line in history that they could mend and bend to their will—if they were summoned, that is.

The circumstances in which Killua first encountered demons were odd, complex, and impossible to fathom. 

Demons were simply speaking the custodians of the universe. They carried souls to their afterlife destinations. They operated on a wavelength closer to mortals—far, _far_ slower than the Zoldycks, and infinitely slow to angels. Some would define it as this: A century to a demon was a day in the life of a Zoldyck, a single breath in the life of an angel. A millennia could be described as a blink in the eye of a god, if such things existed.

The Zoldycks wouldn’t know what wavelength Killua operated on for some time now. In the meantime, they groomed him to be one of their own.

* * *

Thus was how Killua met his first demon.

It was during a lesson on synapses. If someone was going to kill for the first time, the Zoldycks were there to hold their hand, so to speak. Some mortals were easier to rewire than others—they were just a nudge away from grabbing the knife, the sword, the gun, the needle—but others were more complex. Determined. Stubborn. Innocent until proven guilty.

“We are always working against other wavelengths,” his father explained when the pieces refused to settle. Killua would make an adjustment, and the sparks he left behind would fizzle out—like someone was dousing the flames. “But we are the best at what we do.”

“Why would other wavelengths be working against us?” Killua asked.

“Some beings have jobs like ours, but they fight against temptation,” he explained. “We cannot interfere with higher wavelength interferences, but we can outsmart ones that are neighbors to ours. This one is a neighbor.”

“How can you tell?”

His father sighed, eyes narrowing. “Because I know who it is.”

His father stood from the edge of the pool. Killua looked up, watching the way his father’s white hair shimmered and glistened like the synapses of stars around them, rippling on the surface of the water. He watched as his father’s narrow eyes scanned the shallow platform peninsula in the dark void of this human’s mind. They were all connected and all _live_ humans had one. Even the dead had pools, but they gradually diminished as time went by in the afterlife wavelength. Slowly, surely, even all souls dissolved when the water was gone.

“Netero,” his father said. “Find your own human to tamper with. This one is taken for training purposes.”

Killua startled at the eerie laugh that broke through. He jumped to his feet so fast, his father looked at him in surprise. Killua searched for the sound as his father said, “You can hear him, then.”

“Of course he can,” the being— _Netero_ —spoke, and Killua grabbed hold of his father’s hand as the air rippled not far from them. An iridescent shine took form, metallic and shimmering over the form of an elderly man crouched at the edge of the pool beside Killua. 

Killua jolted away and behind his father, who sighed in annoyance. The elderly man rose, slowly, and clasped his hands behind his back. He was wearing a black robe tied around the waist with a sash—angelic robes, but as far as Killua could tell, he did not have wings. 

Killua looked up at his father, whose jaw ticked.

When he turned back, Netero’s eyes were on him. “I didn’t think you had an angelic bone in your body, Silva,” Netero said.

“Now it seems I don’t,” Silva said. 

“Who is he, father?” Killua whispered.

Netero held out a knotted, wrinkly hand to Killua, who jerked back and nearly slipped straight into the pool were it not for his father. His father held on fast, keeping him steady on the edge as Netero said, “Pleased to meet you. My job is to keep your father in check.”

“Unfortunately,” his father muttered. “You do a terrible job at it most days.”

Netero laughed. He combed his outstretched hand through his beard, and Killua recovered well enough to stand at his father’s side and stare the old man down. _Not a demon_ , Killua determined. 

“I suppose it’s only appropriate to introduce the two of you. You’ll likely be seeing a lot of each other,” his father said. He looked down at Killua, who kept his eyes firmly on Netero. “Killua, this is Netero, a… mentor of mine, so to speak.”

“Taught him everything he knows,” Netero hummed, pleased. “Funny, considering you use it all for the opposite purpose.”

“You resist temptation,” Killua commented.

“That I do. He’s a quick little thing, quite literally,” Netero said, his attention back on Killua’s father. “What are you doing harboring an angel, Silva? He could make great strides a dimension _up_ , so to speak.”

_Dimensions_ , Killua thought. He heard the term before and came to the conclusion that dimensions and wavelengths were one in the same—sort of. Dimensions were not, however, a method of time management. They were, however, easier to refer to solid spaces, like the platform they existed on now in the mind of a mortal in conflict.

“He’ll learn just fine here,” his father said. “Find your own puddle to stomp in.”

“I don’t stomp,” Netero said, but he was already walking away. He waved a dismissive hand and offered a bow to Killua as he said, “I merely _splash_ in puddles.”

And then, they were left to their own devices. As Killua followed his father’s instructions, his fingers on the surface of the water, he couldn’t stop himself from tuning in. It had been accidental, when he picked up Netero’s laughter before Netero ever tuned into their wavelength. Killua hadn’t tampered with other wavelengths, but now, he could feel them in the very fibers of his feathered wings, curled up against his back where they vibrated and shuddered in discomfort. 

And then, the deed was done. Killua sat back on his heels, satisfied, and looked up to his father. His father smiled down at him and clasped a hand to Killua’s shoulders. “Well done,” he praised. He stood then, and Killua remained where he was. 

“Could I stay here a moment?” Killua asked.

“Of course. You know where to find me,” his father said before walking away.

Killua listened to his father’s footsteps retreat into the channel between minds. When he was beyond that dark void of Killua’s mortal’s mind, he turned back to the water’s surface and smiled a little—just a little. He did well.

Killua stretched his wings out from the slits on the back of his white robe. His robe was simple—a tunic, really, draped over his shoulders and crossed in the front, tucked beneath a sash around his waist. It held his wings down, when needed, but also made it easy for them to unfurl and quiver against the cool air. 

He sighed. Since recognizing the wavelengths as very _solid_ things, weighing on each of his feathers, they felt cramped, confined in his robes. He stood, slowly, and hesitated when he a shadow crept up beside him.

Half-crouched, Killua turned, and laid eyes on his first demon.

He knew the boy was a demon from the greenish tinge to his aura. Killua couldn’t see such things on beings on “neighboring wavelengths”, as his father would call them. They operated on a higher level from all of them—a connection to some _greater being_ that reminded Killua that they were all one in the same. That they all existed from the same extra-dimensional being and that a minuscule, microscopic part of that being lived on in all of them. They discerned wavelengths.

Killua watched, his patience dwindling when time went on and the boy had yet to look at him. He was moving so slowly, a bucket in hand. The boy had a pair of bright, amber eyes and a head of dense, black hair. Killua stepped aside, to the edge of the platform, as the synapses on the mortal’s brain flickered out.

At the center of the platform, a pedestal lifted on Killua’s wavelength. To the demon, it likely materialized in a split second, if that. 

_The demon’s wavelength_ , Killua thought, and just like that, the boy stopped walking in slow motion to an item on the floor, in front of the pedestal. 

Killua startled when the boy’s speed increased at an alarming degree. Soon, the boy was swiping something up from the ground and holding it up in triumph. 

Their eyes met.

The boy screamed and, likewise, so did Killua. The boy dropped his eyes, flung out his hand, and pinched between his fingers, Killua found one of his feathers. “Here! You dropped it—I’m not supposed to touch them,” the boy said. 

“I-It’s fine. I probably don’t need it,” Killua said.

The boy’s eyes snapped up. They stared at one another, and Killua found himself losing focus. He wanted to know what was on the pedestal, and the boy seemed to be involved in some way. 

“What do you mean, ‘ _probably_ ’?” the boy asked.

“I don’t know much about being an angel,” Killua confessed. 

The boy hurried towards him, the feather still held out. Killua took it just to appease him as the boy said, “Wings let you travel to other dimensions! Someone could use your feather to jump up. They’re pretty pricey in my dimension—and illegal.”

“O-Oh,” Killua said as he tucked his feather into his robe. “I don’t… want you to get in trouble.”

The boy stared at him. They were the same height. Killua blinked, alarmed, when the boy’s cheeks and ears turned red. He heard of it happening to humans, and he guessed he shouldn’t have expected anything less from a demon—they _were_ closer to humans than Killua was. 

Flustered, Killua pointed to the pedestal. He needed to change the subject. “What’s that?” he asked.

The boy jumped back into motion. He hurried to the pedestal and plucked up the item. “A seed!” he declared. “I must file it down, soak it, and plant it. That’s my job.”

“Why?” Killua asked. 

“Oh, well, this mortal died,” the boy explained. “And every mortal soul gets planted in the garden. They each have their own tree that gets watered with the liquid from their minds.”

Killua was speechless. He knew that the water would vanish, at some point, but he never imagined that it was being used as nourishment for the afterlife souls. His mouth went dry as he asked, “What’s your name?”

The boy smiled. “Gon. What is yours?”

He tried to swallow, but couldn’t. “Killua. Could you show me your work?”

The demon, Gon, seemed just as speechless. He nodded, silently, and went to fetch the water from the pool. The way the water moved—it was different here than on the Zoldycks’ wavelength. He marveled at it as it trickled down the sides of the bucket, dribbling in ripples onto the dark, black surface of the water. Gon held the bucket out until the last of the droplets left the bucket. He tucked the seed into a fold in the waistband of his trousers before reaching a hand out for Killua’s. 

Killua let Gon lead him along out of the mind of his deceased subject. The pathway between minds was narrow, so Killua followed behind, his pale hand still clasped tightly in the demon’s tanned fingers. He swallowed hard when the boy looked over his shoulder, to ensure that Killua was still on his wavelength, on the pathway to the gardens.

The gardens were a long walk from the minds of mortals. They had all of the time in the world, though, and silently they trudged on. On this wavelength, Killua could see all the demons like Gon working to supply water to the gardens. As they neared the orchard that took root on the branches of existence, the number of demons increased to an alarming degree. 

“Do you all work on the same wavelength?” Killua asked as they were pushed aside to make way for a cluster leaving the garden steps. 

“Oh, no, there are limitless numbers,” Gon explained. 

“Perhaps we could skip to a faster wavelength,” Killua offered. He could do it for himself, and he wanted to see the gardens. 

“Oh—no, I couldn’t impose,” Gon insisted, shaking his head, but Killua was already three steps ahead of him and taking Gon with him.

“It will just be for a little while,” Killua reassured, and soon, the stairs were empty all except for the two of them. 

Killua led the way up this time. Gon staggered after him, the water sloshing in the bucket. 

They hurried up and walked through the quiet orchard. Here, on this wavelength, the workers were plucking fruits from the matured branches of the soul trees. The two of them stood and watched for a moment, marveling at the brilliant glow of the flowers, the buds of fresh fruit, all whispering songs in the wind. 

Killua turned to look at Gon, who said, quietly, “I’ve never… seen the fruits.”

“Me neither,” Killua said. “Can you hear them?”

Gon shook his head. Killua looked back to the canopy, the wind tugging at his hair and whispering, again, in his ear. He reached over and put a hand to Gon’s ears. 

Gon’s eyes widened. Killua wondered if he could hear it, but he didn’t have to wonder long. In a matter of seconds, Gon’s amber eyes turned glassy, and bright, bubbling tears spilled over his eyelashes. Killua startled, prying his hand away. Gon caught it, though, and held it to his ear. 

Killua stood, waiting, until Gon at last dropped his wrist to rub at his eyes. “Do you see the auras, on the leaves?” Killua asked. 

Gon shook his head. Killua came to stand just behind him, reaching both hands this time to steady his fingers at Gon’s temples. Gon sniffled, his eyes wide as the two of them looked up at the canopy once more. 

The leaves shimmered and rippled like the synapses in the water. They stood together for some time, watching, listening, and experiencing the orchard as the angles would—if Killua could even call himself that.

At last, Gon whispered, “What—What dimension are we in?”

“I don’t know,” Killua confessed. Gon turned to look back at him, and Killua’s hands dropped from his temples. “I’ll bring you back down,” he promised, suddenly worried that Gon thought Killua had just kidnapped him. 

Gon nodded, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. He reached for Killua’s hand again and whispered, “Come on—I’ll show you this mortal’s plot.”

They walked on. At the plot, they found a simple, clay pot waiting filled with dirt. Here, the trees were merely saplings or unsurfaced yet. Gon crouched beside the pot and, likewise, so did Killua. He reached out to pull Gon back to his usual dimension—slipping back into it felt like… applying a used pair of socks. His wings quivered at the familiar sensation, and he was suddenly relieved by how simple it was. Gon smiled at him, and again to his comrades near them. 

Killua leant back and clasped his hands to his knees. He watched intently as Gon produced the seed. It was large, smooth, and hard in Killua’s hands when Gon passed it to him to inspect. “We have time,” Gon said.

“Time for what?” Killua asked, running the pad of his thumb along the crevice on the seed. 

“Usually, it would take longer for me to get here. The more time I take, the more time the mortal has to experience the afterlife,” Gon explained. 

“But I want to see you work,” Killua insisted, pushing the seed back. He waited, intently, as Gon smiled and produced a roll of fabric from his pocket.

Gon unraveled it on the ground. Inside sat several tools—a file, a knife, and several slim, wooden picks. Killua’s eyes widened, fascinated, as Gon picked up the wooden handle of the file and set to work. He shaved down the hard coating on the seed—just on one side.

He then took the knife. He pierced two ends of the seed and, with one of the wooden sticks, pierced through it. Then, he set it gently on the edge of the bucket that was still filled enough to submerge the shaved edge of the seed. 

“Now what?” Killua asked.

“Now… we wait,” Gon said. 

“But I don’t want to wait,” Killua said, frowning. He reached over to the seed, saying, “I can just speed it up—”

Gon grasped onto his hand, shaking his head. “No—give them time,” he said. Killua frowned at him, brow furrowing, and sat back on his heels. “They only have so much time in the afterlife. I want them to savor it.”

And, so, Killua waited—exactly as long as it took for his brother to find him. 

When Illumi arrived, Killua felt his presence from the way his wings curled in on themselves and tucked away into the folds of his robe. He pulled the loose feather from his sash and gave it to Gon, who immediately tried to give it back before they were interrupted by Illumi’s voice calling out, “Mingling with the demons, are we?”

Killua jumped to his feet and turned a scowl onto his brother. Illumi stood directly behind him now. In that time, Gon tucked the feather safely away, eyes on the ground. Killua narrowed his eyes at Illumi, who stared vacantly back with those hollow, inhuman eyes. 

“You’ve been down here long enough,” Illumi told Killua. “In case you forgot, time moves _differently_ down here.”

“Fine,” Killua huffed. He let Illumi take him by the hand and drag him off. Killua glanced back, over his shoulder, as Gon went on staring into the space where Killua used to share the same wavelength as him, watching the roots emerge from the seed.

* * *

Trees grew as fast as you’d expect them to on Killua’s wavelength. They were slow, but on Gon’s wavelength, they grew at an alarming rate. Until Killua had a handle on his own work as a Zoldyck, his family didn’t trust him with jumping waves, especially not after Illumi caught him “fraternizing with demons”. 

And, so, Killua went to observe the gardens, on his own, in his own wavelength. He’d sit at the edge of the plot where he could look into Gon’s life without traveling in, like when Killua first saw Gon enter the pool of that mortal’s mind. He watched as Gon moved, painfully slowly, planting the sprout that had taken root in the bucket of water. He watched whenever Gon sat and studied the feather Killua gave him, as if wondering just how to use it, before he would frantically tuck it away at the first call of a comrade asking him what he was doing.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a plot so this is probs just a one-off oneshot :P Hope ya liked the little nuggets of Hinduism I used as inspiration. I'm forever fascinated by the Hindu cycle of time. I've also used the idea of soul gardens before in other fics so that isn't new lol
> 
> This is also my first time writing Netero lol what a hooligan, that man.


End file.
